Fa(k)eskin
by MidnightDewdrop
Summary: Barry's life is a monotonous picket fence, minus the dreams and otherworldly happenings he cannot entirely recall... A shadow on the edge of his thoughts - sounds picked up from where? - but no true recollection until he makes his choice.


Phones ring, chatter and beep. Intercoms nasally announce calls for this person or that person on lines one through twenty and the click clack of typing permeates the room. Amidst it all, there is a silent corner, a place where no sound seems to come from, if but a quiet snore, and if one was to look into the little cubicle, one would see a thin, disheveled man's slightly thinning head of hair resting on carefully folded arms and the blank monitor turned off.

With a raucous cry the man sat up, his body shuddering and his eyes wide. The area surrounding him quieted as numerous individuals peered over at his section, while he muttered something about spiders in a soft voice, hiding his reddened face from derisive snots and nearly audible eyerolls. He stared at his computer for a long moment, recalling his dream as though from A Midsummer's Night - full of ghoulish yet eternally beautiful places, of faerie Queens and Knights, courts of Seelie, Winter, Summer and Dark. This was not the first time of late he'd dreamed of such a realm of impossibility, he realized as he lifted his briefcase and set his amenities within, a picture of a dissatisfied wife and little girl, a coffee cup with "#1 Dad" on it, kleenex and a mass of crayon coloured papers. Without visible thought he rose, his jacket left slung over his chair, his umbrella forgotten against the cubicle wall, and left. Vaguely aware of an angry boss yelling about a missed quota meeting and threats to fire him, he turned, a step from the door, "Don't bother . I quit." before stepping over the threshold.

A genuine, eye-reaching smile captured his face as he ran down the hall, whooping as he bounded down staircase after staircase. Laughter graced his vocal chords and he loped with startling inhuman grace down the iron and cement infested jungle paths of New York. Rain droplets began falling, creating a rapidfire tempo for his erratic pace as his body nearly flew down the streets, his tie over his shoulder and his shirt clinging to his torso. A hunter racing metal monsters and shouts of mortals falling on deaf ears amongst blaring noise - roars of pressed machines, their captors' angst regarding his freedom predominant in their features.

His flight slowed and steadied once his grip on his briefcase released, a cascade of items flying behind him, the wind capturing crayon coloured drawings as he recognized his surroundings: aware of a desire to go to the bank, to cut ties and truly be free from scent loaded pollution, his pace slowing as he noted the department store across the corner from, an indicator of how close he was to the Bank of America on 5th Avenue. He laughed out loud, drawing looks from the passing pedestrians as he stepped off the curb, the whispers of his inhumanity, of his personal separation from mortals and his realization deafening screeching tires and softening the crushed left side of the mortal vessel, as the car tried to stop, even quieting his sudden terror as his body was launched in an upward arc before crashing all too soon to the ground. The internal scream of panic was silenced and the slap of rain on pavement was all he heard, darkness becoming the only decoration.

The pulse of vitality was the loudest sound - a father immobile in a sterile, stationary bed, with his daughter's quiet scratch of crayons on paper the second. They shared silent acceptance when she placed another crayon masterpiece of arcing neon trees and forests on his bed, knowing he was off to a new adventure, as only the young do. Sudden influx of sound, an opened door and a terse, expectant voice, the young girl looking up before patting his hand, "Bye bye daddy. See you soon!" before skipping out the door and down the hall. The door closed behind her, and silence fell.

The doctor intently studied his clipboard and the wife's lips pulled together in a tight line while the doctor waited. "Do it. Damn you Barry!" She finally spat before leaving the room, her shoulders stiff with offense. The doctor sighed, "I'm sorry Barry. Unless you could bring yourself to conscious, show some physical sign you'd wake up now, this is it." The doctor waited for several pounding heartbeats before reaching for the cord, closing his eyes and shaking his head as the hum of machines died down.

"Barry" smiled, as the mortal form's breathing stopped and the incessant echo of his heart faded to nothing. The scent of forest and flowers filled his nostrils and he opened his eyes to Faerie, free at last and roared with pure exhilaration - a roar echoed by his kin, his daughter perched among them in a tree. She giggled and leaped freely from it, his arms rose and he caught her. Jubilation broke out around them as they all began to run, her hand tucked into his.

The Hunt was on.


End file.
